


long way down

by RowboatCop



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bisexual Daisy Johnson, Bisexual Phil Coulson, Canon Disabled Character, F/M, Oral Sex, Pegging, Rimming, Vaginal Fingering, but oh well, daisy's powers, kind of a surprising amount of feels for the kinkfest this was meant to be, lots of feels, porn & feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:44:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6148033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She drops her forehead to rest on his scar for a brief moment because she can, because she thinks about it sometimes — what he went through to be here with her, the long path he’s taken (so much longer than hers) to get to where they are. </p><p>(Daisy & Coulson explore some new things and appreciate how far they've come together.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	long way down

She wakes up slowly as the sun peeks through the edges of the hotel room curtains, kind of proud of herself for sleeping past five. This is a vacation, after all, the first real time off she’s taken in longer than she can remember  — she’s supposed to sleep past five. Now, though, it’s after six thirty, and the odds of getting more sleep are slim.

Still, she enjoys the bed.

The room is cold, but under the sheet and blankets and white duvet — under all the covers with Coulson’s body heat added to hers — it feels amazing.

Slowly, so as not to wake him, she curls her body tighter against his — bare breasts to bare back, naked skin to naked skin. Then she leans in enough to press her cold nose to the back of his neck and exhales there, enjoying the way it warms her.

Coulson groans, a sexy sound even though he’s still mostly asleep, and she smiles as she drags her nose up closer to his ear.

“Daisy,” he mumbles, still mostly asleep, and pushes his ass back against her her thighs. She wonders if it’s something he does all the time as he’s waking up, stretching through sleep and cuddling back towards his bedmate.

This is still new between them. New-ish, anyways. Newish enough that she doesn’t know for sure how he usually is first thing in the morning, whether he stretches, how he takes up space.

It’s been a month since she worked up the nerve to kiss him, open mouthed and messy and desperate against the door of his office. And it’s not like things had gotten suddenly easy right afterwards, either — too many years of baggage and compartmentalizing, secrets and walls.

Now, though, they’ve reached a spot, she thinks. A good spot where it’s surprisingly comfortable, where it feels like maybe they’re able to open up to each other. The kind of spot where they can finally take a weekend to themselves — one brief meeting in DC and then two whole days alone in a hotel room.

It feels like the beginning of something. Mornings when they’ll have the luxury of waking up together, nights they’ll be able to spend in the same bed, and she feels _giddy_ with it — with sleeping with him.

With sleeping in. With over-air conditioned hotel rooms and warm bodies under too many blankets. With the way his skin slightly sticks to hers from the slightest hint of nighttime sweat. With the way he smells like sleep as she presses her nose behind his ear and kisses him there.

He groans at the second kiss below his ear, and Daisy skates her hand down the side his body, over ribcage and hip bone, until she’s pressing her fingers into the hollow part of his pelvis, too incredibly aware of the fact that he’s erect and desperate for her touch.

“Daisy,” he grunts her name, clearly fully awake now, and she slides her hand to wrap around his cock, smiling against his neck when he thrusts forward into her fist.

She drags her nose down his neck, down his spine, sliding her head down under the covers so she can better wrap her arm around his hip and jack him off as he grinds himself forward into her hand. While she works, she presses her lips down the side of his body, following the warm trail her hand had made — his rib cage and the dip of his waist and the little cut of muscle above his hip, all warm and soft under the blankets.

“Shit, Daisy,” he moans her name, the noise muffled by the covers and the sound of her own breathing. They shift, she can’t honestly say whether it’s her idea or his, so Coulson is on his back and she slides up between his bent legs, into the little tent in the sheets formed by his knees.

His right arm shoots down under the covers and sort of pets her head, a clumsy-but-heartfelt attempt at affection that makes her smile

It’s warm and dark under the blankets, and she likes it. It’s as though it’s just her and Coulson’s body, and it smells like sex and like _him_ , a scent makes her wet and almost aching. She presses her nose to the side of his cock and breathes in, vaguely aware of his groan but more aware of the way his hips quiver, his cock twitches, his fingers clench and unclench on his belly where he’s dropped his hand.

She’s not had a chance, yet, to be so aware of his body, of the physical parts of him. He’s a vocal lover, fond of telling her when she does something he likes, even more fond of telling her exactly what he wants to do to her, but it occurs to her that he doesn’t often tell her what he’d like _her_ to do to _him_.

Now, though, he doesn’t have to ask for anything. She can see it in every pulse of his hips how much he wants her mouth on his cock, like his body is begging her for something he’d never ask for.

And she can feel it deeper than the pulse of his hips and the way his fingers clutch into a tight fist, she realizes. She can feel it in her bones — his eagerness, the change in his vibrations when she drags her nose closer to the head of his cock and then away. His whole body changes frequency depending on where she touches him, and it feels like she’s playing him like an instrument.  

It’s a powerful feeling, and it’s not like Daisy has ever been a shy or passive lover, but she feels more empowered than she has before to tease him — to play him — more.

Moving slowly, she drags her nose lightly down over pubic hair to his balls, presses gently there and watches him quake at her touch. He scrambles his feet higher, parts his legs more, somehow opens himself up further to her explorations — but it’s not just making it easier for her, she realizes. He wants it, too, wants it eagerly, and this is how he asks.

Coulson shivers and tilts his hips up for her when she traces her right hand up his thigh to brush a finger just underneath where her nose is pressed.

He lifts his hips further, his body almost begging her to press her finger downwards, so she moves it slowly. It’s new for her, touching someone like this, and when his whole body shakes at the pad of her finger barely brushing across his anus, she freezes, not sure what to do.

Coulson, though, Coulson bucks his hips almost desperately, and she can hear him whimpering from up above the blankets, can see the way he’s struggling to keep his hand off his cock.

Quickly, she slides up enough to suck the head of it past her lips, bobbing gently over his cock as she brushes her finger against him again and his whole body shakes from the tension of his arousal. She can feel it when he hits the very edge — the pulsing against her tongue and finger in unison even before he lets go with a groan that’s barely even muffled by the blankets.

She struggles with it — Daisy would never claim that she’s the best at oral sex, definitely not the best at never gagging a little at the feel of semen at the back of her throat — but she manages, feels probably a little too much pride at how much she’s managed to undo him.

“Fuck,” he grunts, and his right hand lands back on her head, clumsily petting her again like he just really wants the contact. “Fuck, Daisy.”

He’s still panting for breath when she crawls up his body and finally pokes her head out from the warmth of the blankets into the cold air above. Before she can hit him with a smirk, though, he grips the back of her neck and pulls her mouth down against his.

Coulson kisses her _hard_ and thorough, almost like he’s seeking out the taste of himself in her mouth, and rolls her part way underneath him, tangling them in a messy nest of blankets as his hand brushes down her body.

He holds her gaze, his own eyes impossibly blue first thing in the morning, as his fingers slide between her thighs. Without words, she lets her body talk for her, tilting her hips for him, silently asking for more. She can feel how wet she is, how easy it is for him to push two fingers inside of her even though she’s so tight and aching in her arousal.

His left arm — the stump — curves around her shoulder as he props himself slightly above her, and she realizes it’s the first time they’ve made love without the prosthetic, with just the feel of his arm against her. She’s seen him without it the few times they’ve stayed overnight together and once in the shower, but he always seems to have it on when they’re together like this, and it’s never even occurred to her that it might have been conscious on his part.

For some reason, that thought does her in — that he’s always kept it on, and now he’s not. That this means something to him, for them.

She grinds herself to an orgasm with his fingers curled inside of her and the heel of his hand flat against her clit. She’s so desperate and tightly coiled it takes almost nothing, but he doesn’t pull back his fingers when she comes quietly, her face pressed into his neck. Instead he holds her, his left arm still curved under her shoulder, with two fingers still buried inside of her, until she calms enough that he can thrust them.

“Coulson,” she whispers his name below his ear as he starts to work her back up, until she’s sweating, panting open mouthed against the side of his face.

After, they kick their way out of the nest of blankets, suddenly stifling in the aftermath of their love-making, and Coulson presses himself against her, trailing gentle fingers across her skin.

“Have you ever…” She stutters on the question she means to ask — it’s not a conversation she’s ever had with someone, though, and she doesn’t exactly know how to have it. (There haven’t actually been that many someones, haven’t actually been that many conversations about sexual histories of any sort.)

He looks down at her, obviously confused for a moment before he seems to catch the embarrassed expression on her face.

“Yes,” he nods. “I’ve had anal sex.”

“Where you’ve been penetrated,” she manages to clarify, like she’s an actual adult and not a blushing child.

“Yes.”

“By…”

“I’ve had two male...partners.”

He looks at her, something wary in his expression like he worries about her reaction, but she just nods.

“And you liked it a lot.”

This time Coulson blushes, and she thinks it’s just from expressing his own physical desires, but however embarrassed he is, he doesn’t stop touching her, doesn’t stop the light tickle of the pads of his fingers down her back.

“I think that’s fair to say. I’m not the best at it, though.”

“Does it take skill to…”

“Yes and no. If you come too fast, it’s not...ideal.”

“And you’re really sensitive.”

He nods, still blushing. She could get that, maybe.

“Okay. What about...have you ever..with a woman?”

“No,” he shakes his head, and the gentle fingers become his whole hand, his palm smoothing over her skin.

“But would you want to?”

Coulson smiles down at her, this easy smile he gives her sometimes like everything in the world is in its right place, and she’s almost surprised by how much he’s not embarrassed about this all the sudden.

“If you were interested, yes.”

And she likes his answer, is the truth — she’ll always like his tendency to make things about her, to take it out of the realm of the hypothetical and make it just about them and what they’ll do together. But it would be a lie to say that she’s not intrigued in large part because it would mean doing something _for him_ , something he’d probably never ask for otherwise.

“Okay.”

She curls herself back into his shoulder, and he lets it drop.

 

* * *

 

 

She came of age in the twenty first century, so of course she knows _things_ in theory. But she doesn’t know _things_ in specifics, has never even thought about a lot of the specifics, so she does the obvious and googles it.

She googles it a lot, actually, in private moments. For research. Research purposes only.

It’s two weeks later when Coulson wanders into her bunk, fresh from his post-workout shower, and finds her watching an informative video on the subject.

“Daisy!”

He’s more than a little shocked, which she guesses she can give him, since she’s not exactly the posterchild for porn. Still, it’s a _good_ video — a female director, obviously shot with women in mind — so she doesn’t feel particularly guilty or ashamed about it.

Daisy hits pause on a frame where the leading woman — who is wearing a black corset-like getup that’s sexy but powerful — is stroking her hand across the bare upturned ass of her man-friend. Coulson’s eyes are clearly glued to the screen for too long before he finally turns his attention back to her.

“Phil.”

He blinks, and she’s a little amazed at how he looks at her — jaw slightly slack, pupils visibly wide so his eyes look almost glazed. She had known he was interested in this, but she’s sort of amazed at _how_ interested.

She clears her throat.

“Do you want to watch with me?”

He licks his lips, and for a moment, she fears she’s freaked him out.

“Yeah,” he finally answers, though he hangs awkwardly beside her bed, as though he’s not sure what to do with himself.

“Come here, Coulson.”

He takes the direction easily, pausing only to kick off his shoes before he climbs onto the bed to lean against the headboard beside her.

“You want to catch me up on the plot?” He’s obviously joking, but she _has_ watched plenty of these videos with plot. Good plot.

Daisy raises her eyebrow.

“This one’s a little light on plot,” she admits as Coulson smiles, his eyes once again glued to her laptop, as though he’s willing the action to continue. She props it up on a pillow where they can both see it, and hits play.

Coulson’s reactions to the porn quickly become more interesting than the porn itself, if she’s being honest. She’s seen this one before, after all, but Coulson’s breathing is different — it changes almost immediately, getting shallow and fast as their protagonist slips two fingers inside her partner.

Daisy leans over and presses her lips below Coulson’s ear so she can inhale against his damp hair, smiling when he moans lightly and wraps his left arm around her shoulders.

“Tell me what you like,” Daisy requests, her voice soft and breathy.

“I’m pretty sure I’d like _that_ ,” he answers, not moving his eyes from the screen even as he tilts his neck, encouraging her to trail her lips down towards his shoulder at then back up to nip at his earlobe.

They watch together as the man on screen writhes backwards against the woman’s fingers, and then groans loudly when she pulls back and steps away.

“Shit,” Coulson shifts on the bed and presses his right hand against his groin, arranging his erection inside his jeans.

She’s almost shocked, though, when his breathing gets faster and shallower as the man crawls across the floor to the woman.

“I didn’t know you liked stuff like that,” she whispers, keeping her tone judgement-free.

“It’s more...theoretical,” he answers, almost squirming as the man presses kisses to the woman’s leather boots, prostrating himself in front of her. “I’m not sure I’d want it in real life.”

“So you’ve never —”

“No,” he answers. “Nothing like this.” Coulson clears his throat. “Do you…”

“Not so much,” she admits. She doesn’t really have the sexual confidence to pull off _dominatrix_ in her opinion, and she likes knowing that they both have a choice in what they’re doing, that whatever he might do with her will be because he wants it.

“I really like _that_ , though,” Coulson murmurs as the man trails kisses up the woman’s legs and presses his face between her thighs, eating her out with her hand pressed to the back of his head.

“I know,” Daisy answers, pretty amused by his enthusiasm. She’s well aware of the fact that he likes going down on her _a lot_ , would be even if she couldn’t feel him getting more aroused beside her. They’ve never done it like that, though — Coulson on his knees in front of her, and she likes the idea of it, imagines that he does, too.

As he watches, he can’t seem to keep his right hand off his cock, rubbing himself through his jeans. He doesn’t lift his hand away until the woman on screen pulls the man’s head back and then produces a large dildo and harness.

“Fuck,” Coulson breathes, and she can feel him, tense and almost vibrating next to her. She doesn’t need her powers to feel how worked up he is, how his whole body is pulled tight like a guitar string.

It’s a strange relief to feel his interest, after all the...research...she’s been doing.

Much of it has been more practical, looking at configurations of dildoes and harnessess and _actual_ instructional videos, but much of it has been for entertainment, and it’s an understatement to say she’s interested.

There’s something more than just the act, the porn itself. It’s in the idea of doing it with him, of doing something Coulson clearly wants, of him opening himself up for her, of _fucking_ him.

So Coulson’s lips falling open as he watches the man on screen stretch out on his back, legs raised over his chest as he’s penetrated, is super gratifying. She doesn’t even need to ask — she can see it in every line of his body, how much the idea turns him on.

“Is this…” He takes a breath, like he’s willing himself to relax. “Is this something that you’d want to try?”

“Eventually? I figure it’s something you work up to.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and his hand lands back on his cock, rubbing himself through the denim again.

“Do you want to start working up to that?”

He swallows.

“Now?”

“If you...”

“Yeah.” She can hear him take a slow breath, and then he presses down harder on his cock. “ _Yes_.”

There’s a long pause between them filled with the sounds of the man on screen _really_ enjoying getting fucked, and then Daisy hits pause and closes her laptop before depositing the device on the night table.

Everything is too still for a moment, a seeping awkwardness that just happens sometimes — sometimes even when no one is proposing anything new, just what happens when a relationship is in early stages and they’re not always good at moving from hanging out to being naked.

Daisy breaks it by leaning over and kissing him. The sensation makes him gasp against her mouth for a moment, like he’s shocked, before he melts into her and kisses back desperately.

He’s panting when she pulls back and tugs her shirt over her head, then quickly shucks off the tshirt bra beneath. Coulson’s jaw falls slightly open in response, and he draws in a slow, shuddering breath.

“Take off your shirt,” Daisy directs him, almost embarrassed when it comes out more like an order than a suggestion.

He doesn’t object, though, just nods as he begins working his fingers down the buttons

She watches with probably a little bit too much interest as he sits up in bed and removes his shirt and then the tank he’s wearing underneath, but he doesn’t seem to mind. And when she reaches out to run her hands up his chest, he follows suit, cupping her breasts gently as he leans in to kiss her again.

It’s good — soft and familiar — which helps calm her racing heart, helps make her less nervous as they fumble their way out of the rest of their clothes, bodies pressed together on the mattress. She straddles him, letting his cock slip between her legs, and there’s a strong pull to just have him right now, to get off and satisfy the ache that’s built since she turned on the video.

Coulson breaks the kiss, though, and licks his lips as his eyes wander down her body, followed by his right hand.

“May I?” He asks as his fingers slide between her legs, and she kind of _really_ likes it — Coulson asking, Coulson waiting to hear what she wants from him.

Instead of answering, Daisy pushes him down into the mattress, fingers wrapped around both of his wrists so that his hands land softly by his head, prosthetic just like the flesh and blood one.

She searches his eyes, looking for any trace of concern, and sees only his excitement.

Supporting her weight with her hands pressed to his palms, Daisy straddles his stomach leans over him to kiss him softly, teasing him with her mouth over his until he’s trying to sit up to kiss her deeper, harder.

When she concentrates, she can block out the humming vibrations around her and just focus on him — on the way she can feel his body buzzing underneath her, on the way that her lips under his ear speed up the frequency, her tongue pressing to his pulse point slows it down almost like he’s purring. Like she doesn’t need her powers to affect his vibrations at all.

She drops her forehead to rest on his scar for a brief moment because she can, because she thinks about it sometimes — what he went through to be here with her, the long path he’s taken (so much longer than hers) to get to where they are.

Coulson groans loudly when her tongue traces the circumference of his nipple, and he arches towards her when she scrapes her teeth softly over the hard point of it, making him suck in a loud breath.

“Daisy,” he grunts, and she can feel him trying to grind his hips up against hers as she hovers over his cock, erect and almost begging for attention.

She raises herself up, taking away any pressure, and he groans again as she drags her nose through his chest hair, taking in the warm, clean scent of him.

In order to work her lips down lower, she releases his hands, and she has to press her grin into his skin when he keeps them by his head even without the pressure. Slowly, she draws her fingers through his arm hair to curve around his chest, firm pressure as she nuzzles her way down his stomach.

Once she reaches his cock, Daisy lifts her mouth away from his skin and grins up at him, at his open mouthed desperation, and readjusts herself to lie down between his open thighs so she can draw her index finger up the length of him.

There’s a moan, something that might be her name, and his hips move in slight pulses, clearly desperate for more contact.

He drops his legs open and raises his hips as she nuzzles against his inner thigh, smiling again when he shivers at a soft bite. Coulson groans when she pulls away, though she keeps tracing his cock lightly with her fingernail, letting herself feel the way his vibrations change as she moves from the base to the tip.

“Tell me what you want,” she requests.

“Your fingers,” Coulson whispers.

“Yeah?”

“I want to feel you inside of me.”

Daisy smiles and presses her lips to his inner thigh, moving down and inwards until she’s circling her tongue against his ass. He tenses and then lets out a loud groan as he relaxes into it, letting her push his leg up towards his chest.

“Fuck,” he breathes in on the word, and then exhales her name, getting louder as she’s able to work her tongue past the tight ring of muscle.

By the time she pulls back, he’s moaning almost incoherently, his hips tilted as much as he can manage to accommodate her, and he hisses at the feel of her nose trailing up his cock as her index finger presses just barely inside of him.

“Okay?” She asks quietly, wiggling the tip of her finger inside of him, through the wetness left from her saliva.

“ _Yes_ ,” he grunts.

She tries to slow down and _feel_ him — to feel inside him as she eases a second finger into his body, but also his vibrations and the way they change as she pushes her fingers deeper. She’s inside of him, but the way he fills her senses makes her feel like he’s all around her, more than just the smooth walls squeezing around her fingers.

Everything about him gets tighter, higher, harder, until she sucks the head of his cock past her lips and curves her fingers inside of him and he comes with a loud grunt of her name that becomes a long, low groan.

It’s an ocean wave, she thinks, growing bigger and louder as it breaks over her — so _strong_ , like it might knock her down, swallow her whole — and then it’s calm, like all the tension she can feel in his body drains away and for one moment he’s completely still.

“Daisy,” he breathes her name, breaking the stillness as his body relaxes, like it’s catching up to the fact that the tension inside him has ebbed. “God, Daisy.”

Daisy pulls her hand back but keeps her mouth on him as he sucks loud breaths, his chest heaving in the aftermath.

It’s deeply satisfying to see him so utterly _spent_ , even with the ache that that twists between her legs, more satisfying still when he tugs her up the bed so he can wrap his arms around her.

“Daisy Daisy Daisy,” he whispers against the side of her head as he holds her, his words falling into the rhythm of his breaths and his vibrations — low and easy, moving through her so she relaxes against him.

 

* * *

 

Daisy practices putting on the whole...apparatus...while Coulson is in the shower. It would probably be sexier to shower with him, and she knows that, but she needs to practice, to feel like she understands how this thing is supposed to work. There’s the dildo itself, which slips inside of her and presses against her clit before curving into the phallus that’s mean to fuck him, and then a small harness to hold it in place.

The ideal — perhaps not the reasonable expectation for their first time, but the ideal — is that she should come, too.

She takes it off and puts it back on again until she feels moderately comfortable with the whole process, and when she slides her hand up and down the shaft, she can feel it pressing inside of her like it could be good.

The whole experience buying it at the sex store today had been...kind of good, actually. They picked a nice place — nothing seedly, nothing under a freeway overpass. It was clean, well-lit, and the advertising proudly announced that it was owned by two women interested in helping women explore their sexuality.

She had still felt uncomfortable, out of place, at first, and it was only worse because Coulson had seemed so relaxed about it.

It’s gotten easier to wrap her brain around as they’ve eased their way into this, into the sex as well as into the relationship in general, how much difference they’re bringing to the table. He’s older than she is — sort of _a lot_ older, though she’s rarely thought about it that much because he’s just _Coulson_ — and he’s had a whole sex life before her. (A whole sex life that’s older than she is.)

And it’s different. Miles was eight years older, which had seemed like a big deal when she was still twenty one and he was turning thirty. But this, with Coulson, is a whole different ball game.

At the same time, there’s never been a chance in her life to be quite as open with someone as she and Coulson have been with each other. It’s different in a good way, an unquestionably wonderful way, but it makes sense, since Coulson has always been utterly unique in her life.

In late nights and early mornings over the past few weeks, after she’s collapsed over him with sticky thighs and sweaty forehead, they’ve talked about partners and sex and love. Quiet words in between kisses and nuzzles of his lips into her neck, whispers that get lost in his skin, confessions given as she feels him deep inside of her.

He’s told her about his first time (in Lola, of course), about his relationships with boys who never seemed to become boyfriends (like he feels this as a failing on his part), about how much he’s struggled with love (so much of his life tied up in this fake duality between love and duty).

In turn, she’s told him about her first time (which she later found out somehow didn’t count, that somehow only a penis — or maybe only a boy — would make her no longer a virgin), about her relationships with boys who never really wanted her (only what they could get from her), about how much she’s struggled with love (so much of her life tied up in wanting to care for others while knowing she should protect her heart).

Even with all that openness, though, walking into the sex store had been hard — this pervasive feeling that Coulson might somehow think less of her in her inexperience. The thought was ridiculous and she knows that (knew it then, even as she felt it), since Coulson has never judged her or looked down on her for _anything_ , not in the whole time she’s known him.

If anything, he’s treating everything between them as it’s own new thing for him, too.

And actually, everything at the store had gotten easier when they were standing in front of the dildoes.

“One of these,” she had told him, pointing to a range of double-ended ones that she picked based on research.

He had furrowed his brow at them, and some of his calm facade had cracked a bit, a nice reminder that this was actually new to him, too.

“So that part…”

“Goes inside me.”

He nodded.

“So which one are we getting?”

“I think you should probably choose,” she answered. “Most of the difference is the size of...the other part.”

He had looked embarrassed at that, when it was about picking out a sex toy for himself. And Daisy is nothing if not supportive and helpful, almost to a fault, but it would be a lie to say she hadn’t enjoyed seeing him a bit flustered.

(She always enjoys seeing him a bit flustered.)

“That one,” she pointed to the smallest one, “looks just a little bigger than two of my fingers?”

“Okay.”

(He likes that width, the feel of two of her fingers inside of him, something that causes no discomfort and makes him come so _hard_.)

“So, do you want bigger than that?”

Daisy had leaned in and kissed his neck softly as he contemplated the question, as though reminding him that the sooner they made the purchase, the sooner they could...use the purchase.

“That one,” he finally declared, pointing to a size in the middle — bigger, but still smaller than his cock.

They had kissed a lot — trying to keep it to a minimum in the store, but once they were back in Lola, it had taken a few minutes to get back on the road.

It’s exciting, though, she thinks as she slides her hand over the dildo one last time — purple, she likes purple — and takes it off as Coulson finishes his shower.

He’s obviously nervous when he walks into the bedroom, the kind of tension that feels uneven instead of pulled beautifully taut like an instrument, but he’s doing a good job of pretending otherwise.

She tries to do the same, to force herself to be calm as she presses her lips together, letting her eyes trail over Coulson’s naked body.

He’s dropped his towel and made no pretense of clothes (they both know what they’re doing today). He’s so real, so present — all naked skin and scars, chest hair and lines of muscle, powerful shoulders and his absent left hand that’s as much a feature of his body as what’s there. And Coulson is a beautiful man, but he’s never so attractive as when he lets her see him in all his vulnerability.

His cock is half hard as he examines her in return, hanging thick against his thigh, and Daisy licks her lips, letting herself feel the vibrations of his growing arousal.

“What should I…” Coulson trails off as he looks at her.

It’s hard not to squirm a little bit, when she thinks too much about where they’re trying to get to instead of just where they are right now.

“What do you want?”

He licks his lips and then smiles — a slow, calm smile that she’s gotten really familiar with. His _charm school_ smile. It makes her stomach flutter with something that’s not nerves at all.

“I want to make you come.”

Before she can move to the bed, though, he comes to her and kisses her gently before pulling back. There’s a moment where he seems like he’s questioning himself, and then he drops to his knees in front of her and presses a soft kiss low on her belly.

“Is this…”

“Yeah,” she answers, more breath than speech. They’ve never done this like this, but as she combs her fingers through his hair and he slides his lips lower, all she can do is answer again, an even quieter moan, “Yes.”

He’s patient, like Coulson always is when he goes down on her, tempering his obvious eagerness with slow, deep strokes of his tongue as he presses up between her thighs, so white hot pleasure builds at the base of her spine.

Daisy grips the edge of her dresser, holding herself upright while she parts her thighs as much as she can, and Coulson’s left arm lands against her hip.

She jumps a little at the feel of the cold metal band on her thigh, and when Coulson looks up at her with more than a trace of worry in his gaze, she drops her hand to touch his arm just above the attachment point. He smiles against her skin and then presses his tongue back against her clit as his right hand ventures up her inner thigh.

“Phil,” she breathes his name, voice shaking as she tightens her grip on his hair.

“Tell me?” He murmurs, words almost lost as he pulls back just enough to speak before parting his lips wider against her.

“That’s —” She moans when his fingers press inside her, and then she leans back further into the dresser to give him more access. “Good, Phil.”

She grips his hair in her left hand and with her right holds onto his arm harder, squeezing her fingers around his skin right where it connects to metal. There’s a flash of worry — that she’s hurting him, adding to the pain that he has said is constant in some way or another, but he doesn’t seem bothered by her touch.

Instead, he moves his tongue faster as she applies more pressure, like a positive feedback loop that sends her quickly crashing towards orgasm.

“Coulson,” she grunts his name quietly as she feels her lower body start to shake, as the heat building in her lower body spreads.

He slows down as she does, always careful not to push her too hard, but he makes no move to pull back, no sign that he’s planning to stop.

Instead, it’s Daisy who uses her grip on Coulson’s hair to pull him backwards, smirking down at the way his face is painted with her wetness, his mouth still open.

“Daisy,” he breathes through her name as he licks his lips, looking bereft as she steps away and then excited all over again as she reaches for their purchase.

He watches in rapt fascination as she puts on the whole apparatus, seating it inside herself and then holding it more firmly in place with the harness. And she’s glad she practiced this a few times, but it’s still an awkward process, though you wouldn’t know from watching Coulson’s fascinated arousal.

Once she gets it in place she turns so he can take in the profile of the whole thing.

“What do you think?”

Coulson just nods his approval, his eyes skating up and down her body eagerly, focusing in on where her fingers wrap around her smooth purple cock. His tongue makes a slow trail across his lower lip as he watches her hand stroke up and down.

“Do you wanna suck it, Phil?”

“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, and she can see how hard he is, his cock brushing against his belly as he leans forward to wrap his lips around the silicone phallus.

It’s strange at first, watching him bob his lips over the end of something attached to her but feeling nothing from it, and then he closes his lips tighter and _presses_ it against her, so that it both moves inside of her and grinds against her clit, still sensitive from his tongue.

“Coulson,” she moans his name and slides her fingers through his hair. It’s just the right amount of pressure — not too much to make her over sensitive, enough to make her excited to keep going.

He moans back and pushes forward, takes the entire length of the dildo past his lips like it’s nothing.

“Showoff,” she gasps, only to be met with a sly raise of his eyebrows before he begins to work his mouth over her in a way that seems engineered to create the most friction, to make her whole body throb and tingle.

Daisy pushes him back before she comes, though, somehow more turned on by the way Coulson drags the back of his hand across his mouth and just...waits.

“I want you to lie down on the bed. Is that okay?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he answers adamantly and makes his way there, spreads himself out for her on his back, pillow fitted helpfully under his hips.

And when she takes a moment to center herself, to stop her own tremor of nerves and excitement, she can feel his — his whole body is strung tight, not the trembling nervousness of before, but the beautiful tension that seems to resonate with something inside of her. And it only gets better as he watches her and waits.

She follows him onto the bed with a bottle of lubricant, and pauses as she crawls up between his thighs.

“If I hurt you —”

“You won’t,” he reassures her confidently, because apparently Phil Coulson can just turn off his nerves.

“But if I do —”

“If there’s any discomfort, I’ll tell you. But this is going to be good for me,” he promises, and his quiet certainty is comforting, actually.

She nods once, and Coulson’s right hand snakes up behind her neck to pull her down against him, her silicone phallus rubbing up against his cock as he kisses her. The friction is good when she relaxes enough to feel it, pressing against her and inside of her as she gets more confident with kissing him, chasing his tongue into his mouth.

By the time she pulls back, she feels ready — as aroused as he is, and excited instead of nervous.

Preparing him is easy, almost familiar now, and he groans at her lubed fingers pushing inside of him, so loud that she can’t quite help her need to curl her fingers and press upwards until he’s whimpering and pushing back against her fingers.

“Shit, Daisy,” Coulson gasps. “You can’t —”

He pulls in a breath when she slips her fingers out of him, and Daisy grins.

His eyes are unbelievably dark as he watches her slide lube along the purple cock, and when she pushes up against him, he eagerly circles his hips, trying to get her inside too quickly.

Daisy, though, wants to take her time with this, and rests a soft hand on his hip as she pushes the tip inside, and he settles — opening for her as she starts to make slow, shallow thrusts.

Coulson pushes back, keeping the gentle rhythm she sets, as she starts to push deeper inside him and his lips fall open. The shallow thrusts don’t do that much for _her_ , it’s not until she makes a longer stroke that she can feel the device press into her clit and move inside her, and she gasps at the same time Coulson does.

He’s quieter than he usually is, and even though she can _feel_ that it’s good for him, it’s almost unnerving to see him watching her — wide eyes and open mouth, barely gasping as she moves.

“Good?” She asks, voice a little too high as a tingling warmth builds between her legs.

“ _Yes_ ,” he answers, almost too adamantly. His right hand reaches for her, finds the angle less than ideal, and settles for pressing into the headboard above him as his feet come up off the bed, knees towards his chest to open himself up further. “Faster.”

Daisy nods and starts to move less carefully, focusing on the deeper grinding motions that give her what she needs as she leans forward enough to rest her hands on Coulson’s chest, letting him wrap his legs around her. Once she’s closer — within his reach — he pulls her down to kiss her again, his fingers weaving through her hair while his left arm rests on her back.

As soon as they’re pressed together, his tongue mapping her mouth desperately and her hands cupping his face, she almost forgets about the dildo between them, just feels _him_ underneath her. It sets her off — a shallow orgasm that leaves her gasping against his ear, able to feel his every breath, every vibration, every twitch of his cock where it’s pressed between them.

He follows her a moment later, coming with a quiet groan that gets louder as he holds onto her, as she can feel his cock spasm against her stomach, his semen warm between them, while the tension in his body stretches and until it snaps.

He’s still panting for breath when she pulls back, slipping out of him, and he hisses at the sensation — a frown marring his sated features while she fumbles with the harness and the dildo, setting everything down beside the bed before she curls back against him.

It’s a little surprising when he turns and curls into her, burying his face in her neck as he sucks in lungfulls of air.

“Coulson?” She whispers his name quietly, stroking a hand through his hair as he wraps his right arm around her, holding on tight.

“Yeah?” His voice is high and tight, too quiet.

“Are you —”

His whole body shudders against hers.

“ _Yes_ ,” he answers, something like a laugh. When he pulls back, his eyes are wet, but he’s smiling, more wide and relaxed that Coulson usually lets himself be. “I like having you inside me.”

“I like the way you let me in,” Daisy answers, unsure how to better capture the vulnerability, the openness, that makes it so appealing.

Coulson rolls on top of her enough to kiss her, deep and messy, and when he pulls away, it’s to look down at her with serious eyes.

“I love you,” he whispers.

And it’s beautiful, but at the same time it strikes her as incredibly absurd that it’s the first time either of them have ever _actually_ said it, now when they’re messy and sticky and they’ve loved each other so much for so long.

He looks so earnest, so serious, and it feels good to hear it, but it’s also just so _obvious_. There haven’t been many days in the entire time she’s known Coulson when it’s occurred to her to question whether they love each other.

She laughs — she can’t do anything else. It’s a sudden burst of noise, and the situation only seems more ridiculous when he frowns at her, pensive eyes and his eyebrows drawn together like he’s not certain whether he’s supposed to be offended.

Through her laughter, Daisy grasps his face between her palms, smoothing her thumbs over his eyebrows as his expression softens above her, as his slight frown melts into a smile and he joins her, burying quiet laughter against her shoulder.

“I love you, too,” she tells him, her voice quiet and her smile pressed against the side of his face.

And it’s not enough — absurdly not enough given how much she feels for him — but Coulson smiles down at her with his laughter and his wet eyes, and maybe it’s enough for now.


End file.
